A Fire of Unknown Origin
by InkedRose
Summary: Celairiel, youngest daughter to Lord Elrond of Rivendell, joins the Fellowship of the Ring in order to fight for the peoples of Middle-Earth as the shadow of the Dark Lord Sauron's rule begins to generate after long years of hiatus. Together they will face death, battle despair and experience a new adventure on their quest to Mount Doom.
1. Chapter One

_The world is changed. _

_I feel it in the water. _

_I feel it in the earth. _

_I smell it in the air. _

_Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it. _

_It began with the forging of the Great Rings: three were given to the Elves; immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings; seven to the Dwarf Lords; great miners and craftsmen of the Mountain Halls and nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern each race._

_But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. _

_In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged, in secret, a master ring, to control all others and into this ring; he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life. _

_One ring to rule them all._

_One by one, the free lands of Middle-Earth fell to the power of the Ring, but there were some who resisted. A last alliance of Men and Elves marched against the armies of Mordor and on the slopes of Mount Doom; they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth. _

_Victory was near, but the power of the Ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the King, took up his father's sword._

_ Sauron, the enemy of the free peoples of Middle-Earth, was defeated._

_The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever, but the hearts of Men are easily corrupted. And the Ring of Power has a will of its own. _

_It betrayed Isildur to his death and some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend, legend became myth and for two and a half thousand years, the Ring passed out of all knowledge until, when chance came, it ensnared a new bearer. _

_The ring came to the creature Gollum, who took it deep into the tunnels of the Misty Mountains, and there, it consumed him. The Ring brought to Gollum unnatural long life. For five hundred years, it poisoned his mind. And in the gloom of Gollum's Cave, it waited._

_Darkness crept back into the forests of the world. Rumor grew of a shadow in the East, whispers of a nameless fear and the Ring of Power perceived its time had now come. It abandoned Gollum, but something happened then that the Ring did not intend. _

_It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable: a Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, for the times will soon come when Hobbits will shape the fortunes of all._

* * *

In the light of autumn's morning, a horse-drawn carriage travels down a quaint, winding road of dirt through large fields of green grass, vibrant flowers and towering trees. Guiding the carriage is an elderly man bearing grey robes and a pointed hat. His aged features make it evident that his long life in the world has molded into wisdom. With a wooden pipe in the corner of his mouth, he sings a pleasant tune, "The Road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, and I must follow, if I can…"

Between the phrases of the song; thick, twirling smoke rises from the pipe and ascends into the sky before evaporating amongst the fresh air. Beside the elderly man sits a woman of youth – a maiden, white and fair, with dark, waving waist-length hair and a white gown that promotes some form of prominence. Once the first phrase of the melody is finished by the man, the young woman begins to sing in response, "Pursuing it with my eager feet, until it joins some larger way. Where many paths and errands meet, and whither then? I cannot say."

They journey through the peaceful lands of The Shire, waiting to come to their destination of Hobbiton. Though the journey has been prolonged, it has not been tiresome. The beauty of The Shire captivates all eyes that pass through her fields and venture her rolling hills. Once the song has finished, the companions are left to listen to the humming birds and the carriage rocking along the uneven ground.

"It is quite nice to be back in The Shire after being away all these long years," the elderly man says to the woman sitting at his right shoulder, "My fondness for the Hobbits and their tender ways of life will never grow weary in my heart. It is truly remarkable to experience their love and devotion for their little piece of the world."

"The Shire has always had a special place in my mind," I say in response, admiring the leaves waving in the gentle breeze, "I often wish I could have grown amongst the untouched beauty of these lands. Even the simple sound of a bird's humming could be equal to the crying of the harps from home. I occasionally dream of fleeing from my father and his rule – and the place in which I travel in my dreams is always here – in Hobbiton."

"There is truly something special about the simple ways of living," he agrees, taking another puff from the pipe tucked into the left corner of his mouth, "Their admiration for that which is often overlooked has always brought a smile to face. Which, I will add, has become quite a difficult ask. All of my long years in this world have caused me to become less susceptible to the joys of everyday life. With that knowledge, the fact that such simple creatures can manage to liven me once again – as if I were young again – is far beyond my comprehension. Though I do hope you do not mistake my banter for complaint."

"That surely cannot be all that makes you feel prosperous again, Gandalf Greyhame."

"What do you mean?"

"Your love for the Halfling's Leaf may bring renewed days to your life, but your love for a good adventure plays deeply into that rejuvenation."

"Adventures are far beyond my years, young one," he responds before inhaling a large breath of his pipe, "I have grown much older since last I experienced a true adventure. Do you remember the tale of which I speak?"

"I remember as if it were yesterday, Mithrandir."

"Of course it would be fresh in your mind! A mere sixty years is no comparison to the life of an Elf. You remember when I brought the Dwarves to your doorstep, I assume. You remember it as though it were merely the blink of an eye."

"I remember each and every one of them," I nod, "I even recall Bilbo being with the Dwarves, and I find myself wondering how his appearance has changed over the course of sixty years. Of course, flattery will be necessary, simply because it is his birthday."

"One hundred and eleven years old," Gandalf notes, puffing at the wooden piece, "Quite an old age for the likes of a Hobbit, but I am quite glad to know that he continues to live with the same spunk that he once had. Of course, I cannot be sure of this, but knowing that I woke something Tookish inside of him all those years ago means that he has not lost touch with the adventurous Hobbit inside of him!"

"You seem quite proud of that fact."

"Of course there are things I am rather bitter about," he says, setting the pipe in his lap to grip the carriage reigns properly, "We faced so much peril and experienced so much death – and that is what I regret most about that journey. Even though I knew that death would have been inevitable, I would have liked to see less of it."

I remain silent for a few moments, pondering Gandalf's words with my own thoughts, "I recall when you brought thirteen Dwarves to the doorstep of Imladris. They were unhappy to amongst the company of Elves, and I do not believe that it was unreasonable of them. I remember each of them: Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Oin, Gloin, Dori, Nori, Ori, Kili and Fili. Then of course, there was the grumpiest Dwarf of them all – Thorin Oakenshield, and he is the one that I remember the fondest."

"I thought that would be the case," Gandalf says, giving me a sidelong glance, "Out of the fourteen members in Thorin's company, he was the one you spoke to more than to simply greet him and wish him well on his trip. No, no; it was much more than that – much more sentimental than the average small talk. I must admit that I am still rather surprised at the fact that he did speak with you. The anger he held for Elves was still strong in his heart."

"I cannot say that I disagree with the anger he held," I respond, "For that would be lying. There was good reason for the Dwarf to be angry and I will not say that I would have felt differently if the favor had been returned. Thranduil broke his trust and abandoned his people, and that is unforgivable."

"What aspect of that event makes it unforgivable to you?"

"Do you disagree?" I ask him, turning my eyes to gaze into his.

"I do not. I am simply wondering which aspect of Dale's destruction that you find most unforgivable as well as unforgettable."

"To begin, Thranduil broke his trust; after promising that he and the Elves of Mirkwood were going to come to his aid in the event that Thror and his people faced danger. However, what aggravates me most of all is the fact that Thranduil turned his back knowing that many lives were inevitably going to be lost to the dragon. How can you abandon an entire city to suffer with knowledge that nearly the entire population was going to be demolished? I could never commit a deed so heinous," I explain, feeling a cold tremor throughout my body.

"What Thranduil did was and still is unforgivable, but I believe the thought he belief he held was a justifiable reason to abandon the Dwarves to perish."

"Which thought would that have been?"

"I believe that the Elf-King did not wish to aid Thror due to the fact that he did not want his armies to be put before danger. It was a matter of protecting his kin, just as Thorin and his family did when Dale was being overrun," Gandalf explains as he picks up his pipe to smoke from it, "Even in that light, that does not excuse his actions."

I look down to the front, right wheel of the carriage in order to regain myself, and once I have, I turn my gaze back to Gandalf with an amused expression on my face, "I know you're curious."

"I beg your pardon?" he asks, blinking his eyes at me, "What would I be curious about?"

"When the Dwarves arrived in Imladris and continued their stay, you asked me what Thorin and I had been speaking about. I could see the curiosity in your eyes then and I can see it now. If you're truly wondering, Gandalf, you can simply ask."

"Even if I were ask, that does not mean you would tell me!"

"Which is true," I agree and smile for a moment. "I have kept this information buried within my mind for sixty years and I do believe it is time to reveal the subject of our conversation."

"You must have said something that affected Thorin's outlook on your race, even if it was only for you. I do remember that he had grown quite fond of you by the time he and the others ran off. What is it that you two spoke of?"

"We spoke mainly of Dale and what happened when Thranduil abandoned his people. I agreed with his anger and allowed him to know that he had the right to harbor such feelings. However, I also told him that the entire race of Elves is not exact to one another. I told him that I would not have abandoned him. I would have fought for his people, even if that meant my own demise would have come. I was sure to inform him of that matter."

"Your father would have disallowed such an action," Gandalf says, looking at me through his thick eyebrows, "Elladan and Elrohir are the warriors of the family."

"In his eyes, that is true. Arwen and I are capable of battle, and you are aware of that fact," I say.

"Indeed I am," he nods, "Your father is aware of your prowess as well, but that does not change the fact that he would never allow you to enter combat."

"I do not fear fighting for my beliefs, Mithrandir. A day will come where my father allows my desire to defend the peoples of Middle-Earth. Perhaps it is not now, but it is to come."

"I do hope I am still around for that moment," he says.

"Old age shall not claim you before that day arrives, Gandalf. I assure you of that."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You need not question the wisdom of Elves."

"That is such rubbish!" Gandalf exclaims and we share a laugh.

"No amount of aging will claim you," I say, "I firmly believe in that."

"I am glad that you do," he says, patting my hand affectionately.

"I always will," I say and smile to him and then exhale happily, looking around the unfailing beauty of The Shire.

"Quiet now!" Gandalf warns, "We will be approaching soon and I do suspect that the young Hobbit will be waiting for us!"

I grin in amusement and silence myself, raising my head to watch the road passing before us. I listen to the sound of the twittering birds, the rustling of the leaves and imagine that the land is playing a lovely song for all to enjoy. After a few extended moments of rocking in the carriage, I see a petite man standing on one of nature's ledges with overalls and a blue shirt. His large, hairy feet are bare – as a Hobbit's feet always are. His brown hair falls in curls around his face. The Hobbit crosses his arms over his chest as Gandalf brings the carriage to a stop. The pony whinnies, almost as though he were thanking the elderly man.

"You're late!" the Hobbit says, staring at the man with a blistering expression.

"A Wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf begins, his voice sounding stern and unhappy, "Nor is he early – he arrives precisely when he means to!" he exclaims, raising his head to meet the blue eyes of Frodo Baggins. They gaze at one another for a long moment before smiles creep over their faces and they begin to laugh.

The Hobbit jumps from the ledge and into the carriage, causing me to scoot over quickly before he lands directly on me. He lands in Gandalf's arm – the two of them laughing, "It's wonderful to see you again, Gandalf!"

"As it is just as pleasurable to see you, my boy!" the Wizard says, returning the greeting.

Frodo scoots from him and sits between the two of us, smiling at The Shire in admiration before blinking, almost in surprise when he sees me, "I cannot say that I recall seeing you within these lands."

"You truly mean to tell me that you do not remember me, Frodo Baggins? I am, not only offended, but I am appalled!"

There is silence as we gaze at one another before a large, goofy smile extends across his face, "Celairiel, it has been so long since I have seen you!"

"Indeed it has," I agree and smile at him, "You do not look as though you have been aging during the time we separated from one another, Mr. Baggins."

"Please," Frodo says, giving me a playful look of disapproval, "Mr. Baggins is my uncle and you know very well to address me by my first name!"

"Perhaps I do," I say, brushing his words off as though I were superior to him, "However, my memory is vague from last we met."

"I do not believe such poppycock!"

We look at one another, grin and hug. It is always a warming feeling to reunite with such old friends. "How is Bilbo?" I ask.

"To be honest, he has been acting a bit odd lately. He's taken a liking to locking himself in his study, pouring over old maps and muttering about long awaited adventures. I often wonder what he means on the matter."

"Do not fret, Frodo," Gandalf intervenes, "Your uncle is far too lively for his old age."

"The statement of being 'far too lively for his old age' was not the argument he made when we were traveling to The Shire," I mumble to Frodo.

Gandalf scoffs and gives me a hard stare, "Were you never taught that it is terribly rude to sell out an old man?"

I shrug with a laugh working its way into my throat and I turn my head to watch the passing trees so that the Wizard and the Hobbit are able to reminisce and talk about what they have missed in the long years they have not seen one another. I smile when they smile and laugh when they laugh – for happiness seems to be contagious, but I will not complain of such affairs.

As I am caught in my own thoughts, Frodo taps my shoulder a couple of times in order to get my attention. I look to him and he takes my hand, going to drag me from the carriage, "It's wonderful to have you back, Gandalf."

"It's wonderful to be back!"

Frodo grins, tugs on my hand and jumps from the carriage, stumbling slightly as he lands on the ground. I follow after him, landing firmly on my feet and the Hobbit shakes his head at me in disapproval, "The grace of Elves is a reason for my jealousy!"

"Do not be jealous," I tell him, "It can be taught."

"I cannot say I concur."

We walk side-by-side throughout Hobbiton as Frodo tells me how his kin has been fairing throughout the years. I admire the small houses with round doors, smell the colorful flowers planted in the gardens and greet those passing by.

It truly is wonderful to be back in The Shire.


	2. Chapter Two

Excitedly, Frodo grasps my hand once again and drags me throughout his beloved homeland of Hobbiton within The Shire. We, together, share an unexplainable love for the surrounding nature – each of us holding identical, humiliating smiles of admiration and unconditional worship. There is a gentle breeze blowing in from the east that swipes my hair across my face and returns the favor to Frodo as well. The young Frodo, wild-eyed and filled with much content, guides me in the direction of two blonde-haired Hobbits within the same general lifespan as himself. With a mere glance as their disposition, it is no secret to know that they are quite mischievous. I recollect a vision of my brothers when they were much younger, adventurous and always wreaking havoc – however that is no longer the tale to be told for Elladan and Elrohir.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck," Frodo speaks, gesturing to the blonde-haired Hobbit with the crooked jaw, "And Peregrin Took," he includes and gestures to the other and shorter of the two, "Two of my very dear, and foolish, friends."

"Merry," the Brandybuck corrects.

"Pippin – Pip," the Took nods.

"Celairiel of Rivendell," I introduce, bowing politely to them.

"You're an Elf!" Merry exclaims.

"That's quite exciting," Pippin adds as though he is finishing his companion's sentence. He then nods to Merry. "We can't say that we get many strangers around these parts. Except Gandalf, but we can't quite consider him as a stranger."

"Not a stranger at all," Merry butts in, "Gained quite of a reputation, he has."

"Of course," an unfamiliar voice says, joining the conversation, "Those lovely fireworks of his are enough to gain fame in any region within Middle-Earth!"

A plump, golden-brown haired man approaches the four of us and places a hand on Frodo's shoulder, "Excuse my impoliteness, I am Samwise Gamgee – Mr. Frodo's gardener."

"It is a pleasure to meet you Samwise Gamgee," I reply and give him a smile, then curtsy to him, "I am Celairiel of Rivendell."

"An Elf," Pippin continues.

"Rivendell!" exclaims Gardener Gamgee, "I greatly admire the Elves, ma'am. They are so beautiful and elegant and I have always fancied paying their lands a visit!" he says, blinks at his own actions and then bows as if he were a patron to my rule.

I give a soft, amused laugh and straighten his back with a ginger tug of my hands on his shirt, "There is no need to bow, Gardener Gamgee. I am not of those whom you must address to as a higher-power."

"Always so humble," Frodo says, looking to Mr. Gamgee, "Of course, she considered that of some prominence. She is the daughter of Lord Elrond."

The stout Hobbit reddens, curling his back to bow once again. I shake my head in disapproval at Frodo and pull Samwise Gamgee straight once again. "As I said once before, Master Gamgee, you need not bow to me. I am as common a person as you."

"Sam," he says in a shied tone, "You may call me Sam."

"Sam," I smile at him.

"Come, shall we visit The Green Dragon?" Frodo asks, beginning to walk to his left.

"The Green Dragon?" I question, looking between the four Hobbits for an answer.

"It's a pub and an inn," Merry answers, "Do Elves drink much?"

"When we do, which is a rare occasion; it has little effect on us."

"That seems rather bland," Pippin adds, furrowing his eyebrows as if to contemplate a controversy, "It would not seem much fun to remain keen on your wits at all times."

"You have no wit to be keen on, Pip," Merry says, nudging his friend.

I use my hand to suppress a giggle, "How terribly rude of you, Master Brandybuck."

"Even he knows it's true."

"If I have no wit, then you have no wit!"

"I have more wit than you."

I listen as they banter back and forth, cracking a smile every now and again when they would bite at one another's throat as though they were rabid dogs. When we arrive at The Green Dragon, I am forced to duck down in order to enter the building and when I stand tall again; my head nearly reaches the ceiling. The five of us sit at a table with a few older Hobbits otherwise known as "gaffers". They laugh and drink and speak of the consistency of their gardens, the finest pipe-weed, or "Old Toby", within their borders and the warm weather of the season. I listen, finding pleasure in such simple conversation that can bring so much interest.

I am pulled off of my feet by both Merry and Pippin as they jump about in circles. I join their merriment and we have a three-way dance. I drink, as the two stated, "the strongest ale in the pub", and live up to my word that alcohol has little effect on the Race of Elves. Even with this news to be such a disappointment, they do not seem dismayed in the slightest.

There is cheer, there is laughter, there is music and there is ale.

There is no better place to be than in The Shire.

Once dusk has fallen over Hobbiton, the five of us leave The Green Dragon to attend Bilbo's birthday celebration. There is liveliness once again. The Hobbits dance, sing, drink, laugh and speak – all in the favor of Bilbo living another year. I almost scold myself for wanting to feel admiration once again, but the love within The Shire is too great to deny acceptance of empathy.

Frodo and I sit at a wooden table with Sam as the two of them enjoy their mugs of ale. I notice that Sam has fixated on a woman with rosy cheeks and curly hair. I give him a gentle nudge of encouragement, "Speak with her."

"Speak with whom?" Sam asks, pretending to be oblivious, "I wasn't watching anybody."

"I did not mistake you for a liar, Master Gamgee."

"A liar – no, you've got it all wrong. I was just watching the others dance and Rosie Cotton caught my eye for a moment. I was being a harmless onlooker, I promise."

"You weren't being a "harmless onlooker", you were admiring her. It is easy to deduct the look of love in one's eyes."

"How is that?" he asks.

"My elder sister, Arwen, she has a lover. I often see the same look in her eyes as I saw in yours. It only appears when gazing at the one you fancy."

"Rosie is very pretty…"

"You should speak with her," I encourage again, "I believe she would enjoy your company."

"There are far more interesting Hobbits than myself dancing around her," he says, seeming saddened, "She'll prefer to talk to one of them, I'm sure."

"I insist you try."

"Don't be foolish, I can't – I won't!" he says firmly, setting his drink down as a hint that the conversation is to be over.

"If you refuse to speak with her, perhaps you could dance with her?"

Sam gives me a bewildered look, his face paled.

"Go on, Sam," Frodo agrees, "Ask Rosie for a dance."

"No," the Hobbit says, standing, "I'm going to the barrel to grab myself another drop of ale. That is all I will be doing tonight; enjoying my ale!"

Frodo gives me a sidelong glance and cracks a grin of amusement. As Sam stands up, he grabs ahold of his friends' shoulders and shoves him off to Rosie, whom grabs his hands and begins to dance with him in return. He sits back down, satisfied with his deed.

"That was a noble act," I say, leaning down to smell a flower of purple coloring.

"It was only necessary," Frodo replies, grinning at me, "He's fancied Rosie Cotton for as long as I can recall, and I will not sit back on my toes and watch him waste such a perfect opportunity!"

"You believe they are matched for one another," I say as a statement rather than a question.

"I do," he agrees, then looks to the right, "Excuse me a moment, Bilbo is calling."

I wave him off and look up to the stars hovering above the Halfling's Leaf. I close my eyes and inhale; catching the scents of the burning pipe-weed, the brewing ale and the blossoming flowers. I am at peace in peaceful lands – as it is to be expected.

There is a sudden disruption in my peace as the surrounding Hobbits holler out. I open my eyes to see them ducking onto the ground as if something was coming, and when I turn around; I see the blast of a dragon-shaped firework heading my way. I drop down and curl under the table, watching as the dragon whips past and explodes into the night's sky. There is an awe of admiration afterwards.

Once each member of the party has gotten to their feet and recoils from the shock of the firework, Bilbo – who looks quite young for his old age – waves his hands and asks everyone to sit down and gather around. I sit myself at Frodo's side, prepared to hear what Bilbo has to say.

"My dear Bagginses and Boffins!"

A cheer emerges from one section of the crowd and they raise their glasses.

"Tooks and Brandybucks!"

Another cheer.

"Grubbs," – a cheer – "Chubbs," – a cheer – "Hornblowers… Bracegirdles," – cheers – "And Proudfoots!"

"—PROUDFEET!"

This outburst causes Bilbo to raise his hands as if the semantics were unimportant, "It's my one-hundred and eleventh birthday!" he admits to the crowd and they all wish a "happy birthday" to him in unison. "Alas, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable Hobbits!"

More cheers emerge.

"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve!"

All of the Hobbits look around in confusion as they try to deduce as to whether or not they have just been complimented or insulted. However; Frodo, Gandalf and I share a smile of mild amusement. Gandalf is, once again, puffing on that long wooden pipe of his.

The crowd is silent and Bilbo looks ahead with a slight hint of horror in his expression. Using his arms, he fidgets with something behind his back – but none of the Hobbits notice this. "I have things to do," he says, which draws more confusion from the crowd.

His lips move, but no words are spoken – at least not to our ears. He pulls himself together and swallows the lump in his throat, then announces to the crowd, "I regret to announce – this is the end. I thank all of you who ventured such ways to join in the celebration of a life as simple as mine, but… I'm going now… I wish you all a fond farewell."

With another moment of silence and mutterings to himself, Bilbo vanishes into thin air and the Hobbits throw their hands up and gasp in shock. I furrow my eyebrows, staring at the exact spot where the elderly Hobbit had evaporated. I then look to Gandalf, who is traveling towards Bag End with his pipe in his mouth and his staff in hand. I look to Frodo, who seems just as confused as everyone else, but also shocked and partially mortified at the strange disappearance.

"Frodo," I beckon to him, "Are you alright?"

"Quite," he says, although his tone says otherwise, "You should go back to The Green Dragon with Merry, Pippin and Sam. I'm going to run home for a moment to check on Bilbo."

I decide not to argue his decision, for it is _his _decision. I stand, accompanying the three Hobbits and we venture back to the pub, sitting down with the gaffers once again. "That was a bit odd, wasn't it?" Sam inquires to the three of us sitting across from him and his father, "Bilbo just disappearing within a second's time."

"You ought not to worry about it, Sam," says Hamfast Gamgee, "Bilbo – although an interesting character – has always been out-of-sorts," he says, taking a hit from his Old Toby, "Best not to question those who choose not to be questioned."

"A word from the wise," Merry says, raising his glass and the Hobbits surrounding – despite Sam – raise their glasses in agreement.

"It's still odd," Sam says, dismissing his father's words, "It seems as though he's leaving The Shire."

"As I said, 'Best not to question those who choose not to be questioned,'" Hamfast says in rebuttal.

"I ought to question it," his son disagrees, "Frodo is my friend."

"It's no matter of yours."

"I wonder if Bilbo said his goodbyes," I wonder aloud. The Hobbits within earshot turn to look at me.

"No business of yours, either," the gaffer replies, placing his index and middle finger over the bowl of the pipe, "It's not our business to worry about those who do not concern us – nor is it your business to question those beyond your borders."

I give him a hard glare.

"Be polite," Sam says in exasperation.

"You shouldn't worry, Sam," says Pippin, "I'm sure ole Bilbo will says his goodbyes."

"Perhaps," he replies, seeming torn between the theory and the true answer.

"No matter to a gardener, anyhow," the gaffer says, looking directly to Sam.

"I'm not just his gardener!" he exclaims in an outrage, "Mr. Frodo considers me a friend and I believe it my duty to act as such!"

Hamfast Gamgee grunts to himself, waving his hand at his son and returns to the enjoyment of his pipe-weed. I look to Sam, almost concerned.

"We can ask Frodo when he arrives," I say in an attempt to uplift him.

Sam smiles at me in return, seeming satisfied with that. Within a few more moments of waiting's time, Frodo arrives back into the pub, seeming somewhat off, but immediately shifts to a cheery disposition when he sees all of us gathered around. Sam and I both forget to ask of Bilbo. Merry and Pippin climb onto the tables and begin to sing, in unison:

"_Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,_

_And the stream that falls from hill to plain._

_Better than rain or rippling brook,_"

Then song is then finished by Pippin as he says,

"_Is a mug of beer inside this 'Took!"_

The crowd cheers positively for them and Frodo picks up his own glass to toast with his friends.

The rest of our night is spent with singing, drinking, dancing, more laughter and more cheer. The gaffers speak of strange folk walking abroad their land, but they decide to agree that it is best not to worry about those who reside outside of their boarders. Once the Inn begins to close, we all exit – thanking Rosie, who is the bar-maiden, and stumbling our way onto the road.

Frodo and I head back towards Bag End, and once we enter there is an eerie silence in the darkness of the nestled house.


End file.
